


keep me upright

by hamartiawrites



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bullying, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Character's name spelled as Yuuri, Deal With It, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Supportive Papa Nikiforov, Victor with a 'k', Yuuri with two u's, anw it's a backstory fic, but it's at the very start and it's not viktor so yay, i tried to cover as much as i could, it's a backstory fic, tw// death, viktor's father is a baker it is law, widower papa nikiforov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 15:41:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11234067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamartiawrites/pseuds/hamartiawrites
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov - Russia's Hero, The Most Decorated Men's Figure Skater in History, Living Legend. The list goes on and on.But to one man, Viktor Nikiforov was first Vitya - his only son who looked like his mother and had the dream to become the world's best figure skater.





	keep me upright

In a small hospital in Moscow, Russia, Aleksandr Nikiforov's world falls apart.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Nikiforov. I truly am." a doctor says softly, gently placing a hand on the crying man's shoulder, but the heartbroken man feels nothing but pain and sorrow, only crying into his hands hysterically, not even noticing that the doctor leaves him to grieve alone.

_She's gone_ , the small voice in Aleksandr's head whispers. _She was too good to be yours and now she was punished for your selfishness. Now she's never ever coming back, and no one will ever see her smile or hear her laugh. Especially not you._

Aleksandr's sobs grow louder as he agrees with the voice in his head, blaming himself for his wife's death. If only he had told her to stay at home, if only he hadn't agreed to her eating lunch with him, if only he had told her he'd pick her up instead of telling her to wait at the restaurant for him, maybe she'd be alive, maybe she wouldn't be _dead,_ , maybe -

"Mr. Nikiforov?"

Aleksandr's sobs come to a halt as he hears the hesitant footsteps of someone approaching. He lifts his head up shakily and clenches his fist, glaring at the ground as he mutters, "Can I please just be left alone before I see my wife."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he feels like wailing all over again. He can't bear to see his beautiful, _sweet_ Vika, whose eyes seemed to hold the beauties of the whole galaxy, just lying on a metal table with no smile, no breath passing through those beautiful lips, her eyes to never open again. He just doesn't know what to _do_.

"No, sir, I was here to ask you if you wanted to see your son."

Sadness is replaced with confusion as Aleksandr looks up, a frown on his face and eyes squinting at the already nervous nurse. "Excuse me?" he asks slowly. "Did you just ask me if I'd like to see my...son?" The last word feels foreign on Aleksandr's mouth, and his frown gets deeper as he waits for an answer.

"Yes, sir." the nervous nurse confirms. "We put him in an incubator and he's stable right now, it would be perfect for you to go see him, if you'd like to?"

Aleksandr looks down at the floor once again, breathing slowly as he tries to calm himself down. They had said that the crash Vika had been in was fatal, which is why they couldn't do anything to save her. If a full grown adult hadn't survived the crash, how could a baby who hadn't even been born survive it?

"Ah, Dmitri, there you are." a foreign voice calls, and Aleksandr looks up to see the nurse jump slightly in shock and then turn to whoever it is that had called him. "Let me talk to Mr. Nikiforov for a minute, go watch over his son. We'll be over in a few minutes."

Dmitri agrees and he hurries off to where Aleksandr's son is probably being treated. The word still swims around his head, and he can't believe that this is a reality.

He has just lost his wife, how can he have gained a son in the same day?

"I bet you're wondering how your son is still alive, even after what happened to your wife." the doctor says. Aleksandr looks up from the ground to come eye-to-eye with the man sitting beside him - one Dr. Mark Kirdan, who smiles at Aleksandr gently and has a hand on his back, as if to comfort Aleksandr. Strangely, it works.

"How could he have lived?" Aleksandr asks, voice breaking as he shakes his head in disbelief. "Vika herself didn't survive the crash, how could our son still be alive if he wasn't even born?"

"Your question is where the answer lies." Dr. Kirdan explains, and when Aleksandr fixes him with a confused look, he averts his gaze, just as the doctor who had told Aleksandr about Vika's death had done. "Your wife, Viktoriya, is the reason why your son is alive."

When Aleksandr murmurs that he still doesn't understand, Dr. Kirdan heaves in another breath and clenches his fists, just as Aleksandr has, as if it pains him to retell the story. "I was near your wife when the crash happened, I helped her stay conscious as the ambulance arrived. By the time we were here," the doctor gestures around them, "her condition was critical. We needed to get her into surgery. I was fully prepared to save her, but before I could do anything she grabbed me by the arm and pleaded that I try to save her son before I tried to save her."

"And you listened to her." Aleksandr says shakily.

"I couldn't lie to her, Aleksandr." Dr. Kirdan sighs. "She seemed to know how this would turn out, that the truth was that if I tried to save her son before I tried to save her, he'd live, and that if I tried to save her before I saved him, I wasn't sure if either of them would make it in time."

Aleksandr closes his eyes and lets his head fall back into his hands, not weeping but simply just trying to remember how to breathe. There is silence, only the sound of the hospital buzzing around Dr. Kirdan and Aleksandr, as if one of the most beautiful women in the world hasn't just died.

"She loved him so much." Aleksandr chokes out, lifting his head a little, a teary smile making its way onto his face. He turns to the doctor, a pathetic laugh leaving his lips. "I didn't think she actually meant it when she said she would die for him, and would do anything to see him happy and healthy."

"She loved you just as much, Aleksandr." Dr. Kirdan says softly. "She knew the risks, knew what would happen if she put herself first. One of the last things she told me was that she didn't want to leave without leaving you something to remind you of her."

"It'll break my heart every time I look at that kid." Aleksandr murmurs. He shuts his eyes tight as he is now the one refusing to look his companion in the eye. "He'll remind me of her every time I look at him, how will I be able to be a good father?"

"You start by going to see him first." Dr. Kirdan says, voice still gentle, but Aleksandr knows that the doctor is telling him what to do and expects that Aleksandr follows what he has to say. "I want you to go there and talk to your son. He may be small, but his father's voice is what he needs."

"But I -"

"Aleksandr, you are the only thing he has left." Dr. Kirdan says. "You want to be a good father to him?"

"Of course I want to be a good father." Aleksandr says automatically, not even thinking about his response before answering.

"Then go and meet your son." Dr. Kirdan says, standing up. Aleksandr feels his body move on autopilot and suddenly he's standing up beside the doctor. "I'll take you to where we have him staying."

The walk to his son's room has Aleksandr nervous. What if he sees his son and doesn't fall in love with him at first sight, even though everyone says he's supposed to love him as soon as he lays his eyes on him? What if he doesn't do Vika's sacrifice justice? What if he's a bad father? What if -

"Whenever you're ready, Aleksandr." Dr. Kirdan's voice comes from Aleksandr's left, and suddenly he's staring at a hospital room door and he wants to cry out, wants to protest that it's unfair that he has to face all this nervousness alone and without Vika, but his son _needs_ him.

He takes a deep breath and opens the door, walking towards the incubator in the middle of the room. The nurses around the small machine seem to understand that this is the father of their tiny charge, and step aside, whispering to each other and keeping their eyes on Aleksandr, but Aleksandr doesn't hear, doesn't _care_ , because -

" _Oh_." Aleksandr breathes, and he places one shaking hand on the incubator's clear exterior. "Oh, my beautiful son."

The tiny infant seems to understand what his father says, and looks up at Aleksandr with the most beautiful blue eyes. A laugh escapes Aleksandr's mouth and he waves to him, mouthing a small "hello!".

As if in understanding, the infant reaches out a tiny mittened hand, eyes widening for his father.

Aleksandr's fragile heart might just break in two.

"Can - can I hold him?" he asks to Dmitri, the only nurse who has been bold enough to continue checking his son's condition and risk breaking the moment. "Please, it'll only be a minute." he pleads as he sees Dmitri glance at Dr. Kirdan for approval.

The doctor chuckles and nods his head, which seem to jolt the nurses into action. They gently usher Aleksandr into a chair, rushing here and there to make sure the baby is still connected to the various machines they have to check how he's doing.

And during all that time, the baby still keeps his beautiful eyes on Aleksandr.

The widower takes a deep breath, but refuses to take his eyes away from his son, no matter how much he looks like Viktoriya. Instead, he smiles at the infant, hoping a miniscule action can express his love towards his son.

The look only changes for a split second as he sees the incubator open and Dmitri reach in to take the baby. He squirms, and Aleksandr feels a sense of protectiveness rush through him at his son's vulnerability, but it is all wiped away as soon as Dmitri comes close to him to transfer him.

The baby starts squirming as Dmitri slowly transfers him from his own arms into Aleksandr's, even going so far as to letting out a sound that sounds suspiciously like the start of a wail, but as soon as his eyes meet his father's once again, it's like he snuggles closer, letting out a sound of comfort as he continues to watch his father.

"Oh, my beautiful son." Aleksandr murmurs, a sad smile forming on his lips. "What your mother would give to be able to hold you right now."

The baby only watches Aleksandr with blue eyes (they'll change, Aleksandr tells himself, but he knows that they're bound to be the same blue forever, or at least maybe a little bit brighter), but Aleksandr swears he sees a hint of sadness in them.

_You're being dramatic again, Sasha_ , Vika's voice reprimands him gently in his thoughts, making Aleksandr laugh.

"Maybe I am being too dramatic." Aleksandr shrugs. "But you'll know, won't you? You'll have a lifetime to figure it out."

The baby seems to give off a bright glow at the affectionate nickname his father's just given him. He offers his father his best smile (which isn't much, to be honest) that makes Aleksandr smile widely down at his son as well.

(Later, a nurse will give Aleksandr a printed picture of this moment, and will explain that the new father had probably been too caught up in the moment to notice the flash.)

"Uhm, Sir?"

As he tears his eyes away from his son's smile, Aleksandr finds himself face to face with Dmitri, who holds a pen and clipboard in his hands.

Click goes the pen as Dmitri poses to write something down. "Have you thought of a name for him yet?"

"A name." Aleksandr murmurs, spacing out as he remembers a conversation he and Vika had had about the baby's name.

_"What about we make a bet?" Aleksandr suggests, sitting beside Viktoriya as she runs her thumb in circles over her pregnant belly._

_"About our baby's name?" Viktoriya gasps, looking appalled at the suggestion. "Sasha, no! I don't want our baby to ever think that he is a prize to be won."_

_"And you call me dramatic." Aleksandr teases. His wife sends him a look and he chuckles, raising his hands in surrender._

_"I just want him to feel loved and safe." Viktoriya sighs, leaning into her husband. She looks up at him. "You understand, don't you?"_

_Aleksandr lets out a sigh as well. "Yes, Vika, of course I do. And don't you worry, our son will never feel like he is less than the best in the world." he assures her, gently squeezing her arm._

_Viktoriya smiles, intertwining her hand with Aleksandr's own. "We'll know what to call him when we see him. Trust me."_

_Aleksandr answers with a chuckle, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'd trust you with my life."_

Now, sitting here with his son in his hands, and with his wife undoubtedly watching them from wherever she may be, Aleksandr understand what Vika had meant when she had said that they'd know his name when they would first see him. He has never been surer about what to call his son now that he's seen him.

"Viktor." Aleksandr says, smiling down at the peacefully sleeping baby. "Viktor Aleksandrovich Nikiforov."

* * *

"Vitya!" Aleksandr shouts, running after the five-year old, grabbing his arm right before he steps foot on the street. Viktor fixes him with an innocent look and Aleksandr glares at him pointedly, tugging him closer and keeping a firm grip. "What did I say about crossing the street on your own?"

Viktor averts his gaze, realizing he can't get out of this one. His little hand curls into a fist, and he mumbles, "Not to do it." as an answer to his father's question.

"You know very well why you can't cross the street on your own, Vitya." Aleksandr reprimands, tone softer than the first time he had pulled his son aside. "Even if you see that there are no cars in front of you, you might still get hurt."

Viktor doesn't seem to listen, only tugging himself to move farther away from his father without actually letting go of his hand. Aleksandr swallows down a sigh, reminding himself that Viktor is young.

And that Viktor doesn't have any idea as to why Aleksandr hates that particular part of the road.

The light turns green, and Aleksandr gives Viktor's hand a tiny squeeze as they walk across the road, a skip in Viktor's steps as they do so. Once they've crossed the street and stepped onto the sidewalk, Viktor runs way from his papa's grasp and through the familiar gray gates they see every weekend, blue roses clutched in his hands.

Aleksandr walks on, hands in his pockets, not bothering to reprimand his son or run after him. Here, Viktor is safe, and Aleksandr feels that a constant presence will make sure that nothing happens to his precious Vitya.

He catches up to Viktor just as the little kid kneels in front of a familiar tombstone and places the bouquet of blue roses onto the grass in front of it.

"Hello, Mama!" Viktor greets cheerily, that same heart-shaped grin he got from his mother appearing on his face just as Aleksandr kneels down beside him. "Sorry I'm late, some snail was too slow in walking."

"Vitya." Aleksandr grunts, but his son pays him no heed, busy being occupied in talking to his mother.

"I hope you like the blue roses." Viktor chirps. "They're my favorite kind of flower! Papa said that he didn't know they existed when he was still courting you, so I guess these are your first blue roses! I hope you like them!"

They had started this little tradition as soon as Viktor could walk and form full sentences. Aleksandr had never liked the idea that people would look at his son and say that he had grown up without the love of a mother, because he knows himself that Viktoriya still continues to give her son love, wherever she might be.

For Viktor, his mom is a literal angel. Aleksandr knows he tells this to everyone he has the opportunity to tell, and he gets to see the sadness on their faces turn to confusion once Viktor tells them he gets to talk to her every weekend.

Viktor has always been one to want to surprise people. He sees the glee spread clear enough on Viktor's face once they turn to Aleksandr to explain the situation to them.

"Oh, and I saw this yesterday afternoon." Viktor's voice floats into Aleksandr's mind, shaking him from his thoughts as he turns his gaze toward his son. On top of the grass, right beside the bouquet of blue roses is a piece of paper, divided into four by its folds. It's a light blue, and in the middle of the poster is a young girl with her hair tied into a bun, holding one leg behind her head while the other stays firmly planted on the ground - or, rather, ice. Fine print indicates schedules for something below the girl, and large font above her states exactly what the advertisement is for.

"It's figure skating lessons." Viktor murmurs, voice soft, and if Aleksandr didn't know what the poster was for, he does now. "I found your old ice skates, and Papa said you used to want to be a figure skater." Bright blue eyes seem to shine as Viktor looks back up, leaning closer to the tombstone, raising his voice as he goes, "Then we're the same, Mama! Because I'm going to be the best figure skater in the world!"

A fond smile places itself on Aleksandr's face. He has no doubt Viktor has what it takes - the kid has extreme balance, he's seen him walk on the couch edge without falling. And he has no doubt Viktor has the skill to dance as well as the ice skaters do.

He opens his mouth to tell Viktor it's time to go, even reaches to clap a hand on his shoulder, but he's only done the latter when Viktor grips the poster in his hand and murmurs, "I'll make you proud, Mama. I'll make you and Papa so proud of me."

Aleksandr sits stunned for a moment, but then his grip on Viktor's shoulder tenses and he pulls his son close, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

"I know you said I shouldn't because it's too dangerous, Papa." Viktor murmurs wetly against Aleksandr's chest. "But Mama will be so proud of me if I do."

"Vitya." Aleksandr laughs exasperatedly, pulling away and cupping Viktor's face in his hands. This time, bright blue eyes exaclty like Viktoriya's stare up at Aleksandr, waiting for him to say anything. "Your mother is proud of you, especially if you're being nobody else but yourself." he says breathlessly, remembering her exact words one cold, February night spent in her apartment. "She wouldn't have you any other way."

"But I do want to skate, Papa! I wanna dance like them," a twirl on one foot as he pulls away, an ungraceful land on his butt, "with more practice I think I can be the best!"

"I _know_ you will be the best." Aleksandr grins, hoisting his son up and into his arms. Viktor squirms, having complained various times that he's too old to be picked up, but practically freezes once Aleksandr says, "Now if you squirm like that, how can we buy you your first set of skates?"

"Papa!" Viktor whines, tugging on his heavy coat with little hands amidst Aleksandr's loud laughs. "Come on! Let's go, let's go!"

Another laugh. "Alright, alright, say goodbye to Mama first."

"Goodbye, Mama! I'm gonna be a figure skater!" Aleksandr winces as Viktor shouts right next to his ear and over his shoulder at the tombstone. Once he's done, he looks back at Aleksandr expectantly. "Can we go now?"

Just to annoy his son, Aleksandr moves exaggeratedly slowly, taking about ten seconds in every step. His plan works as Viktor starts shouting at him and tugging at his collar, and Aleksandr laughs as he quickens the pace - by about a second.

Laughs and shouts mix the air as the father and son continue to bicker, and a breeze swirls through the air around them, as if in a loving embrace.

* * *

"Papa!" Viktor squeals, bursting through the back doors of their bakery. "You won't believe what happened in practice today!"

One of their workers, Peter, grins at Viktor as the ten year old blinks in confusion at the absence of his father. "He's up front, Vitya." he advises gently, watching as Viktor throws his bag in a corner of the room. "Don't go out there without an apron and a hairnet or else Sasha will have you thrown out of here like yesterday."

Another worker laughs. "And one of our regulars thought she saw a hair louse in her bread after you went out, Vitya."

Viktor makes a face at that, already placing a hairnet on top of his hair. "It's not even long yet, she's just being dramatic." he harrumphs, letting the elastic of the hairnet go and smiling contentedly at his reflection in the mirror.

Peter laughs at that. "Well, go ahead, tell your father what kind of crazy shenanigans you've gotten into today." he says, pointing his head in the direction of the employee's entrance to the front of the store, where Aleksandr's just finished displaying their newest batch of _pirozhki._

If there's one thing that Viktor loves more than ballet, poodles, and skating, it's probably his father's bakery and everything that has to do with it. They'd built it after Viktor's teacher had suggested getting Viktor a personal coach ("He's just too talented for an amateur like me, Mr. Nikiforov.") and had struggled with funds. First they had started with just seven year old Viktor and his father as the staff and only a small kiosk at the side of the street - three years later, they have a magnificent two-storey building and a staff of ten people excluding Viktor and his father, and _Vkusno!_ (named after Viktor had earned a liking to the word as a comment after tasting his father's pastries) has become one of Moscow's most popular bakeries.

Viktor stops a few paces behind his father, rocking on his feet as he waits for Aleksandr to finish putting the baked goods in their designated container. As he roams his eyes around the bakery, he catches sight of his favorite decoration: a picture of his parents when his mother was still alive.

A soft smile appears on Viktor's face. Although he's never really met his mother, he loves seeing that smile on his father's face in pictures with her. Aleksandr does still make that same smile every once in a while (most times is when he's watching Viktor skate), but Viktor would do anything to see him smile at his mother like that.

"Vitya?"

"Papa!" Viktor exclaims, startled as he averts his gaze from the picture to his apron-clad father. "Sorry, I was thinking."

"How long have you been here?" Aleksandr asks, amused as he passes Viktor and makes his way to the counter. Viktor follow suit, keeping his hands behind his back, gripping a piece of paper.

"Not long." Viktor shrugs, sitting beside his father in his usual spot behind the counter. The paper stays in his lap, folded and hidden from view.

However, despite Viktor's efforts, Aleksandr's eyes land on the folded piece of paper in his son's lap and he frowns, eyebrows furrowing together as he reaches for it. "What's this?"

Biting his lip, Viktor practically shoves the letter into his father's hands. Aleksandr's frown grows even deeper, wondering where this immediate shift in attitude came from, yet he chooses to remain silent and unfolds the paper, reading what's written in it with his son's watching eyes trained on him.

_'Mr. Viktor Aleksandrovich Nikiforov,_

_Congratulations! Among many young skaters in your division, you are one of the lucky skaters chosen to train under Mr. Yakov Feltsman at the Sports Championship Club located in St. Petersburg, Russia - home to many of the world's best skaters._

_Should you accept this wonderful opportunity, you will be required to move to St. Petersburg along with one (1) legal adult due to the conditions that your training will require._

_We do hope you will accept this wonderful opportunity and come train with us!'_

Aleksandr feels like he can't breathe. Tears collect in his eyes and his breath hitches, grip on the letter tightening as tears fall on it.

Beside him, Viktor panics, eyes widening as he reaches out to try and grab the letter. "Papa, it's okay, I don't need to train under him, I can just continue training here, I -"

Viktor doesn't have the chance to continue what he tries to say as he finds himself in his father's grip, face buried into the crook of his neck as his father hugs him tight, tears falling like rainfall down the back of his shirt.

"I'm so - I'm so proud of you Vitya, I -" Aleksandr sobs, his grip on Viktor growing impossibly tighter, a shaky smile growing on his face.

Viktor is stunned, and he looks up at his father with confusion as he pulls away to wipe his tears. "But - but what about the bakery, Papa?"

Aleksandr gives a wet laugh, shakes his head, and hugs his son close again. "It's not a problem, my son. I promised you that I'd support you no matter what. We have the funds to start another branch in St. Petersburg. As for here in Moscow - Petya!"

The mentioned coworker runs out, dusting his hands on his apron as he stands at rapt attention. "Sir?"

Aleksandr grins, clapping a hand onto Peter's shoulder. "As of now, you'll be in charge around here for a long time. Vitya and I are moving to St. Petersburg."

"St. Petersburg?" Peter echoes, a tone of surprise accenting his question. Viktor peeks behind Peter and sees that the rest of their employees are peeking behind the employee entrance.

It seems Aleksandr notices this too, because he chuckles and calls them all for a faculty meeting. Once all of them have gathered in front of Aleksandr, the man nudges his son, who nods excitedly and hops onto a nearby stool (that seems to just have appeared for the sake of Viktor's dramatics).

"I'm training under Yakov Feltsman! He's one of the greatest figure skating coaches in the _world_!" Viktor emphasizes the last word with an outstretch of arms.

Aleksandr chuckles, shaking his head as he wipes his eyes free of tears. "He's going to be training at the Sports Championship Club." he explains to their clueless employees.

"Sports Championship Club?!"

"Congrats, Vitya!"

"Aww, we're gonna miss you, litte guy!"

"Good luck! I bet you'll be awesome!"

The words of praise mingle as the employees congratulate both Viktor and Aleksandr, grinning and shaking their hand (in Aleksandr's case) and hugging them (in Viktor's case). In the middle of Viktor talking to one of the employees and her excusing herself to get water, Viktor finds himself looking up at his father and finding a familiar smile plastered onto his face.

Eyes widening, Viktor turns to look at the painting hung above the bakery entrance.

The same smile greets him, and a smile of Viktor's own makes his way onto his face as he accepts another employee's hug.

_I'm gonna make you so proud of me, Papa_ , Viktor thinks, a determined look on his face. Just you wait.

* * *

"I'm here for my son, Viktor Nikiforov."

Aleksandr bites his lip as the nurse taps his son's name into their directory to check where he is. He nervously runs a hand through his hair - God, he hopes Viktor is okay, _hopes_ this isn't a major injury because a major injury would _break_ him, it would break Aleksandr to see his son's hopes crushed at such a young age - God help them, Viktor's only _fourteen_ , he can't -

"Room 129, Sir. Third floor." the nurse answers in a monotone voice, provoking Aleksandr to not even bother a thank you if the nurse acts like _this_ to each scared, worried, and concerned relative of this hospital's patients.

He basically jabs at the button going up, and luckily the elevator doors open and he steps in, jabbing at the '3' button and then the 'close doors' button. In his head, Viktor reprimands him for being so inconsiderate, but Aleksandr only closes his eyes and slumps against the corner of the elevator, the words from Yakov's call replaying in his head.

_Freak accident...unconscious...blood...hospital._

Aleksandr had left the bakery as soon as he had heard the words "your son was caught in an accident" and had made his way as fast as he could to the hospital they had brought Viktor to. He hadn't been in contact with anyone else from the rink after that call, and his nerves were getting worse and worse as each minute passed by.

The last time he was at a hospital after being called, the last time he was at a hospital after someone had been in an accident -

_Bing._

The sound of the elevator doors opening jolt Aleksandr out of his thoughts and he looks up with wide eyes at the floor number, running out the open doors as soon as he confirms he's on the third floor. The directions stuck to the hospital walls tell him to turn to the right, and then right again to find the room he's looking for, and sure enough, standing right outside the room and about to head in is Viktor's coach, Yakov.

"Yakov!" Aleksandr shouts, and the usually stoic man jolts and turns toward the person who had called his name, features darkening when he sees that it's the father of his student.

"Ah, Sasha." Yakov says, and the panic inside of Aleksandr flares when Yakov fixes him with a forced smile. "I'm sorry you had to leave the bakery because of this."

Aleksandr waves off his concern with a hand, frowning as he stares at the close blinds inside of what is supposedly Viktor's room. "Is Viktor awake?" he asks, wringing his hands together.

To his relief, Yakov manages a small nod and a sad smile. "It was not bad enough that they had to put Vitya into a coma, but he did have to get some stitches. He didn't like it a lot when he first saw it."

Aleksandr laughs weakly, one hand on the doorknob, ready to turn it and enter into the room as soon as he's ready. "Well, you know Vitya." he mumbles. "Always the perfectionist."

Yakov smiles, but lets it drop a few seconds later and then shakes his head, averting his gaze and stepping further away from the door. Aleksandr watches with curious eyes and worried eyes as Yakov purses his lips and clasps his hands together. "Sasha," Yakov says, shaking his head, "I want to apologize to what happened to Vitya. It was entirely my fault that I hadn't noticed the attitude of my other students around him."

"Attitude?" Aleksandr repeats, although he wants to hear none of what Yakov has to say next. If what Yakov's saying is what Aleksandr thinks he's saying -

"Some skaters deliberately crashed into Vitya. According to some of my older skaters, they'd been doing it for the whole morning and my students tried to help Vitya avoid them." Yakov takes in a deep breath and lets out a shaky sigh, as if what he has to say next pains him. "But when one younger skater fell down and Vitya tried to help them up, they were successful in not only letting Vitya fall, but caused him to gash his chin and his leg on the younger girl's skates and his head to hit on the ice - hard."

Aleksandr shuts his eyes tight, willing himself not to imagine the situation, but his mind decides to play it out for him anyway: his Vitya bending down to help the little girl, them grinning as they knock him and the girl over, and Vitya's pained cry as his chin and leg come in contact with the all too sharp blade.

"However," Yakov says, clapping a hand on Aleksandr's shoulder to keep him grounded, "the doctors did say that it's only a mild concussion and that the scars will heal. Viktor will be back on the ice in no time."

"Great." Aleksandr says dryly. "But that's not what I'm concerned about here, Yakov."

The coach sighs and nods, knowing exactly what the concerned father means. "Rest assured that these kids will be taken off of the team. They've had their eyes on Vitya since he won the Junior Grand Prix Finals - Vitya himself told me. I just didn't think something like this would happen. I've always lectured my skaters about the importance of sportsmanship, and this behavior is unbecoming of someone who is training to become a great skater."

"There's more, you know." Aleksandr says bitterly. He looks up at Yakov with a dangerous look in his eyes, and he sees the intimidating man show a bit of fear, if even just for a few minutes. "Those boys have been bullying my son ever since he decided he'd keep his hair out long. Ever since he's come to practice in a ponytail, I've seen him come home with bruises, refusing to tell me where they'd come from or who had done it to him. He's asked me countless of times if I still think he's my son, even if he keeps his hair long, and for someone to make him believe that I would ever disown him just because of how he likes to keep his hair -" Aleksandr shakes his head in disbelief. "That really doesn't sound like rinkmates I'd want Vitya to have."

"I understand." Yakov utters. "If you ever feel as if Vitya is unsafe at the rink, I will fully understand it if you decide to take him back to Moscow, or transfer him at another rink. But I assure you that if you do decide to let him continue to train under me, I will take every precaution to make sure that this does not happen again."

"Let me think about it, Yakov." Aleksandr murmurs. "I have to talk to Vitya."

Yakov nods. "I'll be on my way. I was only here to keep him company until you arrived."

Aleksandr utters nothing in reply as he enters the room and closes the door behind him. Plastering on a wobbly smile, he makes his way to his waking son's side.

"Oh, Vitya." he whispers, doing his best to keep that same smile on his face. "Don't you ever worry me again."

"Papa?" Viktor mumbles, eyes fluttering open as he tries to sit up weakly. He winces, and Aleksandr's eyes land on his arm, marred with a bruise that was probably cause by him hitting the ice as he fell.

This, ultimately, is what makes Aleksandr fall into pieces, and he yanks his son closer and holds him close, heart pounding against his chest.

"I was so scared, Vitya." Aleksandr whimpers. "Don't you ever do that to me again."

"Papa." is all Viktor utters, and then he breaks down into sobs, burying his face into his father's shoulder, body shaking with the force of his sobs. Viktor is just fourteen - the image of that skate just barely passing his face will be a terror that will plague his dreams for a lot more weeks.

In a couple more weeks, Viktor will be strong enough to come back to the rink and train again. He'll arrive at the rink to the relief of Yakov and the rest of his rinkmates. The boys who had pushed him over will be long gone, and soon he'll be stepping on countless podiums, grin wide as he skates around the rink with the Russian flag around his back, and Aleksandr will be watching it all, sat in the sidelines with a proud grin, a shaking camera, and tears in his eyes as he cheers along with Viktor's fans for his actual son.

But for now, Aleksandr will hold Viktor tight and assure him that nothing is going to hurt him, that papa is here, that papa will always be here, and Viktor will cry, but they'll be okay.

They have each other, and they'll always have each other.

* * *

Over the past few years, Aleksandr has watched his son surprise the world over and over.

The first surprise was when Viktor decided to debut his newly cut hair at eighteen with his brand new free skate. Aleksandr hadn't been there in personal to see everyone's reactions, but he had laughed his heart out after hearing the commentators freak out, seeing Yakov's reaction, seeing the varied reactions of Viktor's fans, and then seeing the bright grin on Viktor's face. It was as if he was a new person.

(Of course, Viktor had told Aleksandr in advance about his plan, and Aleksandr had agreed that it was a good surprise - and he had also agreed to keep his mouth shut to everyone but Vika. And even then, he had had to check if anyone had been overhearing their conversation.)

After Viktor's third season competing as a senior (and his second win as a senior), he offered his father to return back home to Moscow so that he could be close to his wife's final resting place. Besides, his own son had said with a smile, Viktor could take care of himself. He was eighteen now, a legal adult, and he had enough money from his winnings to fend for himself in St. Petersburg.

So Aleksandr left, but his heart still stayed with his son and he continued to watch Viktor's performances, whether it be through the television or in personal, and he stood by with a proud grin as Viktor surprised the world time and time again, telling anyone who was listening that that was his son! His son is the greatest figure skater in the world!

Viktor's promise to his Mama had finally been fulfilled.

Yet Aleksandr could sense that there was something wrong with Vitya. They didn't call him the Living Legend for nothing - not only did Vitya skate the best, but he skated with a passion that most skaters in his division lacked. Every time he stepped on that ice, Aleksandr could see the passion in his eyes, the excitement to show the world what he had in store for them, and the music seemingly living inside his body, continuing to play on repeat even if the whole rink was silent.

Now, however, as Aleksandr watches from his room in Moscow as Viktor skates _Stammi Vicino, Non Te Ne Andare_ , he doesn't feel the same passion he used to feel when Viktor skated. Sure, as the years had passed by Aleksandr had started to notice the same dull look in Viktor's eyes every time he stepped on that ice, but he had assumed it was just age.

But he knows better than to assume that the way Viktor stares distantly and doesn't seem to hear the interviewer's questions is normal behavior. His son is usually so enthusiastic about _everything_. He can even make the most mundane of things exciting, so his son looking _bored_ after being declared the best in the world five consecutive times is -

"It must be suffocating." Aleksandr mutters a week later, staring just as distantly as he watches another customer leave his bakery.

Exactly. Suffocating. All those gold medals, all those expectations, all those eyes trained on you, waiting for you to make a mistake, treating you like an obstacle -

Aleksandr stands up, a determined look on his face. He needs to go to St. Petersburg at once.

Just as he's about to call Peter - yes, Peter, the ever-loyal employee, still worked at the very same branch of _Vkusno!_ \- the bell near the door jingles to announce the entrance of a new customer.

"Papa!"

"Vitya?" Aleksandr says in surprise, yet the bonecrushing hug that the silver-haired man gives him is certainly something only his son can do. "What are you doing here, aren't you supposed to be -"

"I'm heading to Japan!" Viktor beams with a heart-shaped grin. At his feet stands Makkachin, Viktor's old - yet ever-loyal - poodle.

"You're going to _where_?!" Aleksandr exclaims, placing one hand over his heart to try and stop it pounding.

"Japan!" Viktor repeats again, and Aleksandr thinks he's going to faint. "I just wanted to pass by to tell you before I left. And to take some food with me."

Aleksandr watches helplessly as Viktor starts placing some of his pastries into a paper bag, then smiling at his father as he places a bill that is way over the total amount of what he's bought. "Keep the change, Papa, please? Thanks!"

He's out the door before Aleksandr can utter another word, Makkachin's tail wagging behind him the last thing Aleksandr sees.

Behind him, Peter shakes his head and chuckles. "Honestly, Sasha," he admits, putting Viktor's cash into the register, "I don't know how you've lived with that kid and his surprises without having a heart attack."

Aleksandr blinks once, twice, and then chuckles, looking up at the framed picture of him and Vika. Beside it is a new addition to the bakery - a picture of Viktor after his first win, grinning as Aleksandr holds him in his arms.

Aleskandr smiles, turns to Peter with a shrug.

"At least he warns me beforehand."

(A few months later, however, Aleksandr will take it back, claiming he did not know anything about his son planning to kiss Katsuki Yuuri on the rink straight after he's just finished his free skate.)

* * *

For the first time since he and a three-year old Viktor first climbed this hillside, Aleksandr has felt regret about not letting someone drive him up to the gravestone instead.

His legs and any of his other muscles are not what they used to be, and he has to use a cane to walk. Like his own son, it did take him some time to get used to due to his pride, but at least he doesn't wince every time he takes a single step.

Aleksandr sighs wisftully, looking up at the skies. "Only a matter of time." he mutters to no one but the breeze, who swirls around his feet playfully. "Just a few more moments and I'll be with you, my love."

The breeze seems to stop for a moment, yet Aleksandr trudges on, getting a sight of the gravestone he knows and loves so well, and then -

" _Deda_!!" someone shrieks, and he finds himself struggling to keep upright as a kid attaches herself to his leg, giggling as she looks up at him.

"Hana, no!" a familiar distraught voice calls, and Aleksandr looks up to find Katuski Yuuri - or, as he has told the young man wants to be addressed, Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov.

After Yuuri had won silver at his first Grand Prix Final with Viktor as his coach, Viktor had flown them directly to Moscow to introduce him to Aleksandr. The first meeting had gone well enough, with Viktor pouting in the corner as Aleksandr and Yuuri joked about how much the skating legend loved to bombard them with surprises.

Yuuri was perhaps the kindest and sweetest person Aleksandr had met, and he couldn't help but feel extremely overjoyed when Yuuri smiled back at Viktor with the same love Viktor gave him. It was the same love his and Vika's friends had seen in them, and Aleksandr prayed to any god that could be listening, hoping that Yuuri and Viktor's relationship would not end in the tragedy that Viktoriya and Aleksandr's had done.

Fortunately, Fate seemed to listen, and Viktor and Yuuri were married in Hasetsu, Japan, not long after Yuuri's third Grand Prix Final - and first as the gold medalist. Aleksandr finds himself sheepishly confirming that yes, he did cry when Viktor and Yuuri danced their first dance as husband and husband. In his defense, he would tell anyone that would listen, Hiroko and Toshiya Katsuki, Yuuri's parents, were crying as well. It was obviously a parent's instinct.

A few months after their honeymoon in Barcelona, Viktor and Yuuri officially moved to St. Petersburg, where they would both continue to train to compete. A few years after that, Aleksandr watched with teary eyes alongside Yuuri as Viktor announced his retirement.

However, the tears were short-lived as only a few months after that, Hana Katsuki-Nikiforov, a precious little Japanese girl who was five years old entered Yuuri and Viktor's lives as their first daughter. The precious little girl - or little flower, as her _deda_ called her - was an amazing actress, and Aleksandr, now retired, had made it an effort to watch every single one.

"I'm sorry, Papa," Yuuri says sheepishly as he hoists Hana up into his arms, "Hana's just really excited to see you again."

Aleksandr chuckles, waving a weak, wrinkly hand in dismissal. "Oh, don't apologize, Hana's my favorite granddaughter."

Hana lets out a loud laugh at that, giggling, " _Deda_ , I'm your only granddaughter!"

"Not for long if we get those adoption papers soon." Viktor teases, coming up behind his husband and daughter, and Hana lets out an exaggerated gasp at the reminder.

"That's right, _deda_!" she giggles. "I'm gonna have a new sibling soon! Isn't that great?"

"It's wonderful, my little flower." Aleksandr smiles fondly, playfully ruffling her hair as Yuuri sets her back down. "Now, you want to help your _dedushka_ get to your _babushka's_ resting place? I'm not as strong as I used to be."

From the corner of his eyes, Aleksandr sees Viktor and Yuuri exchange a knowing glance and Yuuri usher Hana away, distracting her with the different kinds of flowers alongside the hill (Hana's taken a liking to things that have similarities to her). Instead of his granddaughter, it's his own son that supports Aleksandr as he wobbles on his own two legs to get to Vika's grave.

"You know, sometimes, I think it's unfair." Aleksandr chuckles, waving his cane at Vika's grave. "Your mother got to die still young and beautiful - and look at me! I'm going to die all wrinkly and ugly."

He expects Viktor to laugh along to his usual joke, but instead he looks up in surprise as he sees tears fall from Viktor's eyes. "Please...don't say that." Viktor mutters.

"Vitya," Aleksandr sighs. "You know my time is coming. It's alright. You've got all these wonderful people to look after you." He gestures to where Yuuri and Hana are blowing dandelions, and Viktor lets out a hoarse laugh.

"Yeah, but," Viktor whispers, "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Aleksandr smiles. "And that's what I said to Vika after she left me all alone with you. And tell me, Vitya - did I do anything wrong in raising you?"

Viktor looks alarmed and he shakes his head frantically, uttering, "No! No, of course not!"

"Then you'll do fine without me." Aleksandr smiles, placing a wrinkled hand on top of Viktor's smooth one. "You'll miss me, and I'll certainly miss you and the family you've created, but I'll always be right here."

Viktor looks at the finger in the middle of his chest with a teary smile, and he helps his father sit down with a chuckle. "You always were a drama queen."

"Says the actual drama queen." interrupts Yuuri, sensing that the personal talk between father and son is over. As if in confirmation of Yuuri's statement, Viktor pouts, and all three of them laugh at his dramatics.

As Aleksandr looks at the son that he's raised all on his own, all his achievements, and the family that Viktor has earned, a smile like no other appears on his face, and he hastily wipes away a tear before any of the three can see it.

Yes, he decides, placing a wrinkled hand to the fresh grass on top of Vika's grave.

Vitya will do just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: It's coincidentally Fathers' Day where I live, so Happy Fathers' Day to all the fathers out there! And especially to Aleksandr Nikiforov, although he is made up. I still consider him as someone we should greet. 
> 
> This is my first YOI fic ever so I hope it's okay! I spent so many weeks trying to finish this, and then crammed it all in one night to finish it in time for Fathers' Day. 
> 
> Please follow me on Twitter (@milyyuuri) and please leave a Kudos or comment! I appreciate it a lot, thank you! 
> 
> \- izzy


End file.
